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Who knew Ash was good at shenanigans?
I’m not blind. I see the effort he went to. He must’ve been here all night, quiet as a mouse to do this. I smile at the thought of him running around in socks, arranging flowers. He must be exhausted.
Fuck him.
The memory of the heartbreak he caused me comes flooding back.
Yeah. Fuck him.
I tip out my bowl of tulips onto the counter to join their flower friends and move to the sofa. A single stem of lilac iris sits in an identical vase to the one the white tulip was in. There’s a note attached to this one too. I pull it off and read
.
Lilac Irises symbolize first love. Still love me, baby?
I do. I really do. But I’m fucking pissed as hell too.
The shithead. He deserves the silent treatment for at least a month. Maybe two. Depending on how generous I feel. I drop the note on the table and rest my head back on the sofa when I hear a knock at the front door.
My stomach twists.
What if it’s him?
Creeping over to the door, I stand to the side of it hiding out like the coward I am and ask, “Who is it?”
A deep male voice says, “Delivery, ma’am. ”
Skeptical, my eyes narrow and I enquire, “From where?”
The man immediately returns, “I don’t know, ma’am. I’m just a courier. You want it, or you want me to have it returned to sender?”
My parents should’ve called me Cat because I’m seriously itching to know who this parcel is from. Curiosity is a shitty thing sometimes.
I crack the door open an inch and peek at the older gentleman. I look down to the brown paper wrapped package in his hand and nod towards the electronic signing device. He hands it through the small crack and I sign. We exchange items and I shut the door.
The item is the size of a notebook and no fatter than one. I’m so nervous about what it could be, I leave it and decide to get ready for work.
After showering, I apply some light make up. I dress in white high-waisted linen pants, a long sleeved white shirt which I unbutton to reveal a good amount of my decent bosom, and a thick black belt which comes just under my boobs. Not knowing what to do with my hair, I tie it in a high ponytail.
When someone knocks at the front door a second time, I’m so immersed in getting ready for work that I don’t even check who it is before I fling it open.
And there he is.
Looking hotter than hell in a pair of black slacks, a white fitted shirt which he’s rolled up the elbows, making his arms look sinfully delicious, his regular belt complete with gleaming silver belt buckle and polished black dress shoes. I’m stunned into silence.
I’ve never seen Asher dressed like this before, and my panties are suddenly damp. He looks classy as fuck.
Shifting from foot to foot, he looks nervous as hell. Not wanting him to know I feel very much the same way, I do what I do best.
Be a bitch.
I say, “Something I can help you with, Ghost?”
Not answering my question, he asks, “Did you like the flowers, girl?”
Rolling my eyes to stop myself from crying, I turn my back on him and answer with a sweep of my hand across my flower themed apartment, “Who wouldn’t?”
He walks into my place and states, “You got the notes. ”
